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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647705">Pocket Punks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigtallray/pseuds/bigtallray'>bigtallray</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Highschool AU, Multi, Punk AU, alchohol, also im british so thats why everything is british, and i havent written fanfic in aeons, anyway, but anarchy is always great, green n silver have weird shit going on but this isnt a secondaryshipping fic, i created a new ao3 account because i wanted to write this fucking thing, i havent read pokespe in god knows how long, if ur a kid. drinking is bad do not do it, shut up ray, the dexholders are punks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigtallray/pseuds/bigtallray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver is a punk, and he's getting sick of home. The only half-decent thing about his town is the music scene. But he's only got a year left of school, so he's sure he'll pull through and escape off to somewhere better. When a boy helps him see the beauty of home, he starts to feel a little more conflicted, and suddenly his dreary life plan is on its head.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Pokedex Holder Blue | Green/Yellow (Pokemon Adventures), Gold/Silver (Pokemon Adventures), Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Silver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pocket Punks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I woke up somewhere that wasn’t my bed. It wasn’t even Blue’s couch. It was somewhere unfamiliar, different. The air was warm, and a streak of light stretched lazily across the ceiling. But I recognised the smell. It smelt like cinnamon and sweat, like a person . . . like Gold.</p><p>I sat up and looked around, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of my friends. We were sprawled everywhere across the living room, most of us on the floor. We always ended up like this after concert nights, but we’d always crashed at mine or Blue’s. Never Gold’s. I thought I’d gotten myself into a drunken mess, like I’d done one too many times. The last time I’d woken up in an unfamiliar place, I was in Green’s bed, and both of us were crying. I don’t remember that experience fondly.</p><p>I looked across at Green for a moment, looking agitated even in his sleep. He was lying separate from everyone else, on the floor below the window, and for a second I considered going to sit next to him. Then I shook myself and stood up. Neither of us needed that right now, or ever.</p><p>Picking my way across my sleeping friends, I made my way to the kitchen. I knew where it was because I’d been to Gold’s once before, but I was nowhere near familiar with his house. The picture frames that lined his walls were new and fascinating to me, and I took in each one as I wandered down the corridor. Him with his mother, him on his first day at school, him sat at a piano. A smile tugged at my lips.</p><p>“Silv?” a voice said. I jumped.</p><p>And there he was, stood in the morning light with his black hair all over the place and his usual dumb expression. His shirt was stained with something and he was quite clearly hungover.</p><p>“Dude,” I said, “I didn’t know you played piano.”</p><p>His golden eyes widened and flitted to the picture. It never got old to see him embarrassed, even if it was about something completely innocuous. The high and mighty Gold, brought down by a piano.</p><p>“I, um, that was a long time ago,” he stammered, looking at the floor, “Anyway, um . . . breakfast?”</p><p>“I would fucking murder for a piece of toast.”</p><p>“Don’t . . . don’t do that.” He patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. I smirked.</p><p>He stuck a couple pieces of bread in the toaster and put the kettle on, and the two of us sat in silence, trying to recollect our memories. We’d been to a concert of some anarcho-punk band with a shitty name, and gotten drunk sometime between then and now. My jacket was missing, which was a pain in the ass because it was dead expensive, but the blur I could remember was a generally positive one.</p><p>“What did you think of the band last night?” I asked him.</p><p>“Oh, jeez,” he huffed, “I didn’t give enough of a shit to remember.”</p><p>“Wow. I know you aren’t a punk, but even still, that’s a bit harsh.”</p><p>“I am a punk! I just don’t like that hardcore shit.”</p><p>“What do you like then? Fucking Weezer?”</p><p>He slammed his palms on the table, “I defend my right to listen to virgin music!”</p><p>“Of course <em> you </em> like virgin music.”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up, Silver. I’m a GODDAMN CHAD.”</p><p>“Stop speaking so fucking loudly, my head’s about to explode. Anyway, you’re a goddamn chad who’s never had goddamn sex.”</p><p>“I’m <em> saving myself </em> for <em> Jesus </em> unlike you ungodly heathens.”</p><p>“Sure, Gold. Sure”</p><p>I smirked at him, and he smiled back. He was about to say something else, but then the toast popped up. As he was busy slathering a bucketload of vegan margarine across it, Yellow poked her head into the kitchen. Sweet, innocent Yellow, corrupted by the punk spirit. It was always jarring to see her out of uniform, no matter how many times I saw her. It was easy to forget that she listened to Crass and Conflict like the rest of us, and I always felt awful about it. But here she was, standing in an oversized Bikini Kill t-shirt, and suddenly I was sure she was the punkest person I knew. I didn’t know why, I just did.</p><p>“Silver,” she sighed, “There’s been an incident.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Blue threw up all over Green, and now they’re at each others’ necks. You’re probably more equipped to handle this than I am.” She pulled her fingers through a tangle in her hair, grimacing.</p><p>“God fucking dammit,” I said, standing up. I looked back at Gold, and he just gave me a big, lanky shrug.<em> For fuck’s sake</em>, I thought, <em> For fuck’s sake</em>.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Giovanni was screaming at me the second I stepped in the door. Not because he particularly cared what I did, but because he had guests. I suppose having your hungover son stumbling through the door at 7am doesn’t give off the best impressions to potential business partners. Plus, I was wearing my Pansy Division shirt. Being gay is most unprofessional.</p><p>“Dad,” I said, looking directly at the middle-aged white men sitting behind him, “Can we do this later? I’m busy sucking dick.”</p><p>“Silver, stop.”</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>I turned and sauntered upstairs. <em> God, I hate living here. </em></p>
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